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A CHILD OF GEMS, 




HP&^'i^i^\^ 




A CHILD OF GENIUS, 
A Sketch Book 



FOR 

WINTER EVENINGS, 



AND 



SUMMER AFTERNOONS. 



jT J. WOOD. 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY HOOPER. 

NOV 85 '887 c ^ 

HUDSON, MICH. : V^^v*^ J 1^ 

WOOD'S BOOKSTORE. ^ ' "^ 

New York: 
american nevrn co. | c. t. dillingham, 



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T5 33«r'\ 

.Ml 1 ^ ^ 



COPYRIGHT 

By J. J. WOOD. 

1887. 



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lULlA,— * ^ * * ^ ^ ^ * f 10 marries me 
Must lead a country life. 



^ CLIFFORD -THe lile I'd lead! 

O But fools would fly froi it; for fl ! 'tis sweet! 

^\ > It Ms tlie lieart out, De tUere one to And ; 

^* And corners in't wnere store of pleasures lodge, 

^ ¥e neyer dreamed were tnere ! It is to dwell 

Mid smiles tnat are not neigliDors to deceit ; 
Music, wliose melody is of tne neart ; 
And gifts, tnat are not made for interest,— 
Abundantly tiestowed liy Nature's cneeK, 
And yoice, and Mnd ! It is to liye on life, 
And MsDand it ! It is to constant scan 
Tne handiwork of Heayen. It is to con 
Its mercy, liounty, wisdom, power! It is 
To nearer see our dod! 

-THE HUNCHBACK. 



•^^BEDieAT0RY. 



,y^^^^^^^^ 



-o^@^-4^.-^^^- 



To friends, everywhere, who have cheered me on my 
way, this little white-winged messenger of peace and 
good will is inscribed. May it, like them, live long 
and prosper, is the hearty wish of — 



THE AUTHOR. 



Hudson, Mich., Nou., 1887, 



C03^TE3>TTS. 



PAGE 

A CHILD OF GENIUS 9 

A DAY'S PLEASURE . • 15 

THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER . . . / . 23 

THE OLD CHURCH BELL . . . . . . 28 

THE BRIDGE . 32 

MY GRANDMOTHER'S BOOTS . . . . . 37 

THE PRINCE AND THE POET 43 

JOHN THE PIPER'S SON . .... 56 

THE LOST FATHER , , 62 

TOO LATE 66 

UP HILL AND DOWN DALE 69 

THE ELYSIAN FIELDS ....... 75 

OVER THE GARDEN WALL 83 

THE ROMANCE OF A SAP-BUSH .... 88 

THE ROSE OF ERIN 91 




iHILD 0P Q-BNIUS. 




/iy^^ odd character that I knew, and had 
a peculiar occasion to remember, was 
an eccentric bachelor of eminent re- 
spectability and polished* manner, 
whose attire was faultless and his personal 
appearance exceedingly nice. He had a 
large brain development, and was greatly 
devoted to reveries — shall I say the rev- 
eries of a bachelor? — and 1 wonder did 
they give him the delight that the ''Eeveries" of 
one Ike Marvel gave me ? 

Absorption in thought, which made him oblivious 
to his surroundings, was his prominent peculiarity. 
With his hands behind his back, he would stand and 

(9) 



10 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

fixedly gaze at the corner of the room for hours at a 
time. 

A secluded path in the garden was frequented by 
him, and worn smooth by his ceaseless tread to and 
fro. One terminus was marked by a stone, upon 
which he would rest his foot and remain involved in 
his own reflections by the hour. Some said that he 
was love-cracked early in life, and all noted his 
vagaries ; yet he was a gentleman of culture, whose 
idiosyncrasies could no more be explained than could 
his entire devotion to leisure, without any visible 
means of support. 

At stated times he would absent himself from the 
village on a trip, — ostensibly to the far West, evi- 
dently on business matters,— and upon his return he 
would be flush with funds, and liauidate the accounts 
he was accustomed to run. 

I was a young tradesman then (that M^as fifteen 
years ago), and as the times were fairly prosperous, 
so was 1. Among my customers 1 numbered this 
eccentric bachelor. I was pleased to place any mer- 
chandise he desired to his account ; and one day, 
when he approached me for a temporary loan, I had 
no hesitancy in placing that to his account, too, which 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. H 

was now assuming very comfortable proportions, and 
was looked upon as a nice nest-egg that would come 
handy by and by. In fact, he was soon gone upon 
his business excursion, and returned in due time, but 
there was no sign of liquidation, and various rumors 
pervaded the air, and were strongly discussed, as to 
the probable cause of the deficiency in his cash 
account. 

The source of his income became a matter of de- 
bate. Some laid it to the rental of a mythical Ne- 
braska farm, and others to a skillful manipulation of 
the pasteboards, and that his very absorption was a 
study of the cards, and that his foreign trips were to 
ply their use, and in fact, moreover, his suspected 
financial downfall was brought about in that way. 

Be this as it may, he ofi^ered no excuses. To me 
he held out the idea that my claim could be amply 
secured by a bill of sale of the effects in his room, but 
I did not desire thus to question his ability to settle 
soon in full. 

The situation with me was one of confidence. 
One creditor did accompany him, and surveyed the 
promised possessions that subsequently proved to be 
the property of the landlady, who, good, easy soul, 



12 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

waddled about as fat as a dumpling of her creation, 
and nursed her rheumatic joints in oily gammon, that 
her bill was safe on account of the sumptuous ward- 
robe contained in his trunk ; but when, a few weeks 
later, he disappeared, she was greatly astonished to 
find the sole contents of the trunk to be a few worth. 
less papers. When and how his clothing had dis- 
appeared has remained a veiled mystery to her to 
this day. 

The creditors that mourned his departure — the 
deep damnation of taking himself off — were few, but 
respectable; that is, he owed them respectable 
amounts. Vague rumors of his whereabouts came to 
our village, but time heals all sorrows, and it assuaged 
the bleeding hearts of his creditors as well, and he 
was fairly forgotten. 

One day last summer, there came into my place a 
thin, shrunken shadow, a seedy resemblance of some- 
thing far away, enveloped in a mismatched suit of 
clothing that did not have the renowned Hebrew fit, 
just like paper on the wall, and the antiquated tile 
that surmounted his head was antedated in style, and 
had been in glory long, long ago. " The hat, the 
breeches, and all that, were so queer." It was like 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 13 

Eip Van Winkle come again, and my astonishment 
was as great as the villagers in the Catskills, when 
the apparition approached me with a sign of recog- 
nition. Like a flash it came over me that this was 
our quondam friend, and so it proved to be. 

Vivacious and as well posted as ever, the old polish 
shone through the rusts and stains of time. If 1 had 
ever entertained the idea of collecting my claim, it 
vanished at once, and I was ready to say to the prod- 
igal, now that he had returned, all would be fofgiven, 
when he approached me with an inquiry about the 
old account, and made a statement that he was just 
getting his matters into shape, and would amply re- 
pay me, with interest. 

The vagaries committed by our friend on his sec- 
ond advent are beyond recounting. He maintained 
an animated correspondence, carrying in his hand 
usually some evidently valuable document. I dis- 
covered, however, that the papers and envelopes 
that filled his pockets came from the waste baskets 
of the offices he frequented, and the addresses were 
as numerous as the designs on a crazy quilt. And in 
the midst of it all '4ie toiled not, neither did he 
spin," neither did he pay. He soon disappeared, 



14 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

and whatever corner of the earth holds him now, I 
vouchsafe that he is thoroughly a gentleman of lei- 
sure, as well as a child of genius. 



The landlady of the Live-and-let-live Inn,— dear 
old lady that she is — has handed me a package of 
papers discovered in the bachelor's trunk, that has 
remained unopened and forgotten in the garret all 
these years. 

I hate opened them, and found them to be a num- 
ber of sketches and stories. The landlady thinks 
they were written by her eccentric boarder ; and she 
avers, supported by the cook, that she distinctly re- 
members his chuckling to himself and slapping his 
thigh in a self-satisfied manner, with evident delight. 

They reckoned this a sure proof that his brain 
was slightly turned. My inference is, that the sup- 
posed freaks were merely inspirations. I admit that 
the slight difference between the two conditions 
permits the claim of the landlady being possible. Be 
that as it may, they are offered to the public gaze 
through the subjoined pages, and if there is any divi- 
dend from their publication, it shall be divided 
among the creditors. 




A DAY'S PLEASURE. 

)JTOLEN slumbers are the sweetest. I love 
a bed of a morning, and am reluctantly 
wooed from its tender embrace, except it 
be like an occasion that I recall. The 
lake-dotted State of Michigan furnishes 
abundant delight for the fisherman. Follow me to 
Northern Lenawee, where the adjoining waters of 
Devil's and Bound lakes glisten in the morning sun. 

It has been decided that we shall be early risers 
for a morning's sport at trolling ; indeed, we are 
early alert ; it is three o'clock, just in the gray of the 
morning, and a hushed stillness pervades the landing, 
broken only by the early twitter of the birds. Our 
fervor overlooks the dew-dampened boat-seats, and 
we push from the shore, paying out the line as we 
near the outer row of rushes, the little silver spoon 
moving like a thing of Hfe away in our rear. 

Fishing is like trusting to Providence ; we do n't 
know whether we will get anything or not. We can 

(15) 



16 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

feel the whirl of the spoon as the boat is propelled 
with a steady stroke, carefully guided along the edge 
of the reeds. A moderate breeze furrows the face of 
the water. It is a perfect morning for trolling, we 
have scarcely remarked, when — tug at the line — 
what is that w^e have struck, a reed ? A half second 
of decision, and hand over hand we haul in the line, 
w^hile the boat comes to a halt with the rower alert 
with his oars. We feel a stronger pull, and are quite 
sure about it now. It is nearing us, w^hen '^ swish," 
a great open jaw protrudes from the water and 
makes a rush for it, while we redouble our exertions. 
Our prize endeavors to leap from the water and shake 
himself loose, but he is coming in too fast for that. 
All is excitement. He is a big one^ The boat swings 
broadside to, and he attempts to rush beneath it. 
Beware of his striking the boat and freeing himself! 
We are just dexterous enough to stay the wary fel- 
low and land him in the bottom of the boat, a sur- 
prise to ourselves. 

The excitement and exhaustion of this moment is 
supreme. We are ready to fall, and do fall on the 
animate form of that pickerel. He reaches across the 
boat, and weighs — say six pounds. Now that we 



A DAY'S PLEASURE. 



17 



have got him, the mystery is how to keep him, solved 
by Tom, who whips out his knife and severs his 
spinal column, and he lies helpless at our feet, and 
we are in a hurry to have the line out again. 

The morning mists are rising o'er the waters, and 
the first rosy tint of early dawn is in the east, but 
we mind it not. It is royal sport, and 
we bend to our exertions, little heeding 
the breakfast hour ; and when we pull 
up to the dock with our string of pick- 
erel and bass, w^e have a triumphant 
air, as we consign them to the cook, 
surrounded by a fisherman - fevered 
crowd, Avho declare that they 
must try it themselves. We feel 
that if they do as well as we have, 
they Avill have to work 
for it, and hard work it 
is, and great sport, too. 
After breakfast 
we haA^Q 
a glori- 
ous sies- 
ta, with 




18 ■ A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

our cigars, in the shade under the oaks, passing the 
heat of the day. Our capital prize of the morning 
makes a princely feast for dinner. In the afternoon, 
Tom and Millie and Mattie and I, with a bucket of 
minnows, are prone to try this capitiil bait, conven- 
iently anchored off the sand-bank, and entice the 
wily bass and festive perch. 

Mayhap they will not be allured from their watery 
depths, and we seek the seclusion of Greenwood bay. 
Shut out from the world as idly at anchor we lay, 
and our boats hung between heaven and earth, is it 
a wonder that we have a kindred feeling in those 
mellow moments? We grow confidential, and the 
problem of life is solved without reserve, and the 
good, easy confidence established by the afternoon's 
chat, makes us better acquainted with the inner mo- 
tives that impel our mysterious being. We leave 
the spot with reluctance, and have since recurred to 
its pleasures many, many times. 

Eound Lake country is terra incognita to us. To- 
ward evening we hitch up Dolly, — the pony, — which 
sleek from the stable, ambles thither past pleasant 
farm homes that smack of thrift. The golden rod is 
weaving by the wayside, and through a swampy section 



A DAY'S PLEASURE. . 19 

pussy willows and the wild rose fringe the way, and 
we notice it will be a good place to gather cat-tails 
])resently. Soon the road winds along the elevated 
banks of Eound Lake, passing through the anti- 
quated village of Geneva, with its single store and 
school-house perched on the hill ; past the old white 
fort, the sole remaining relic of the hotels that flour- 
ished years ago, before Devil's Lake became knoAvn 
as a resort. Geneva was in its glory then. Here 
the country swains resorted from miles around, to 
the festive dance, and the semi-fashionable resort 
boasted of its one noted time when it even celebrated 
the Fourth of July in regular style, with a grand 
spread-eagle orator and a fire company from a neigh- 
boring city as a startling attraction. The}^ boast to 
this day, the old inhabitants do, that the company 
never could pump the lake dry, — as though firemen 
would care much about water the Fourth of July ! 

But we leave the old resort behind us, with its rem- 
iniscences of landlords' pretty daughters, and the 
road bears us away from the lake until Ave come to a 
sign-board, and then we detour to the north, when 
we catch a glimmer of the lake again through a maple 
grove. We are on a lower level now. This is Lan- 



20 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

don's, ii secluded picnic ground. What sort of a ])lace 
would this be to come to, with our friends, for a day 
or a week ? We hail the antediluvian proprietor for 
information as to accommodations and charges. He 
comes limping through the gateway. We haA^e to 
speak very loudly to him., but the gateway to his ears 
has long since been closed, and our attempt is fruit- 
less. So we drive on. 

Now the road is by the very edge of the water, 
through sand aud gravel washed up by the waves 
that beat that eastern shore, and Dolly pulls with 
more vigor. The sun is sinking in the west, and 
the soft, luxuriant, incense-laden breeze wafts to us 
^ over the waters, blown from the golden gates of the 
sun. The fishermen are hurrying homeward. The 
tinkling cow-bells sound in the distance. Across the 
lake, in the dusk of evening, the lights of G-eneva 
glow. It is an hour of enchantTiient. 

We skirt a hill, and the w^ay winds to the west. 
We are uncertain of its dim outlines faintly marked 
through the woodland that we enter, — a leafy bower, 
a veritable lover's lane. Ah ! here might old loves 
grow new, and our vows again be said, so absorbed 
in the spirit of the scene are w^e. The fire-fly flits 



A DAY'S PLEASURE. 21 

about, and flashes his jack-o'-lantern around us, and 
the roadway emerges between the two lakes, and we 
have soon completed the circuit of Eound Ijake, and 
Dolly's head is turned toward our quarters at Beard- 
sell's, on Devil's Lake. 

■The small steam launch, "Little Devil," sounds the 
signal whistle at the wharf, and we hurry al)oard for 
a complimentary ride with the proprietor. We are 
on pleasure bent, and whither shall we go? There 
is a dance at Allen's, the landing below, and thither 
we turn the prow. We are sandwiched in, close com- 
panions, and are a jolly crew as ever sailed. The 
little engine pulsates and wheezes at regular intervals. 
Some one starts a familiar air, and all join in the cho- 
rus. Far over the waters, in the calm evening hour, 
sound our voices, echoing in the dark outlined forests 
that line the shore. The starlighted heavens and the 
placid lake and the darkness is a contemplation of sol- 
itude broken only by our OAvn voices and the cr}' of 
the startled night bird. In the midst of our gayety 
we are surrounded l>y the vast silent night, stretching 
away into (^ternily. ]^ut the present is ours, and the 
future in eternity shall bo. 

The lights at Allen's loom u]) ahead, and they sig- 



22 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

nal the pilot from the dock where the boat is soon 
anchored, and we seek the sounds of the violhi under 
the spacious canvas pavilion. It is a popular ten- 
cent dance, and we mingle with the gay throng 
where a pauper is a prince, and the prince jostles the 
pauper. Paupers are common in America, but the 
most of them amount to something. 

We '• alamand left " and '' right and left four " and 
"2^1'omenade all to seats," until the warning whistle 
of the steamer calls us away from the scene of inno- 
cent revelry and riot. The little craft soon lands its 
precious cargo at its own wharf, and we are quickly 
wooed to sweet slumbers, after a day's pleasure. 



"Let the bell toll! A saintly soul floats on the Stygian River." 

Since a day's pleasure, the boat with Tom and 
Mattie has drifted bej^ond the lake, through the lim- 
itless sea, and has anchored in Paradise. Have you 
seen through the morning mists of heaven the bright 
bow of promise of immortality ? The mistakes of 
your life have been many. Beware, oh ! beware — 

" And all should cry, Beware, beware 
And weave a circle round him thrice. 
And close their eyes with holy dread, 
For he on honey-dew hath fed 
And drunk the milk of Paradise." 



THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 




lIIE old white school-house, where 
lot threw a few of my boyhood 
years, though it stood amid bleak 
surroundings, is an oasis of life 
whose foliage refreshes the men- 
tal man. 

To this common seat of learn- 
ing, in the Avinter-time, flocked 
sixty odd youngsters of the dis- 
trict, ''toiling up the hill of 
science," as the schoolmaster was 
wont to say. 

The pedagogue that presided 
over the destinies of the j^outh 
of the neighborhood in winter, 
was a quaint specimen of the 
true Yankee, capable of teaching 
school winters, farming a little 
summers, and rcad}^ to turn a hand at peddling 
queensware between times. It was said that he 

r23) 




24 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

could drive as sharp a bargain over a bit of crockery 
as any tradesman that ever throve. 

His injunction to us was to "make your mark; 
even the snake that crosses the road makes his mark," 
and having said that he kept us well in hand by 
making us "toe the mark." 

There was a faint suspicion that he enjoyed a pun. 
He has long since been forgiven for perpetrating one 
on tobacco. " Locomotives use tobackcr," he said ; 
^ They chew, chew to go ahead, and chew, chcAv to 
back 'er." Such a pun would be fatal now. We sur- 
vived it. The -'survival of the fittest" ? 

In the vicissitudes of his early h'fe in Ohio ho had 
been a boat captain on the canal, and had in his serv- 
ice a lad that had, in the ante hellnin daj^s of which I 
write, risen to some eminence. He held him up to 
us as a shining light, little thinking that his embryo 
hero would become famous as the boy that rose from 
the tow-path to the White House. 

Among the queer characters of that vicinity Avas 
Uncle Billy. The particular thing he seemed des- 
tined to do was to haul red oak wood to the market. 
Red oak isn't filmed for its excellence. His place 
got to be called '-'■ Red oak farm." . A peculiar habit 



THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER.- 25 

of Uncle Billy that we observed as he would be driv- 
ing by would be a continual ''click," "click," to his 
team, and an urging shove of the lines in the most 
nervous manner. The fit of the old gray w^ool hat 
that hung limp about his face, — the stiffness of the 
rim having long since been lost, — never did quite suit 
him. He would give it a half turn, and ere he had 
driven another rod, hitch it would go again clear 
around. What w^as gained by the change was not 
apparent to the observer.' 

The mother of Solon Jones undoubtedly named 
him after a great man, but h.e never filled expecta- 
tions. Solon of old might have been wise, and his 
opinion much sought after; but if the latter-day Solon 
had an opinion, he generally managed to make it 
reach both sides of a question, so that, like Jack 
Bunsby's, "It w^as an opinion as was an opinion." 
And if his tongue was wound up, w^ith the same pre- 
caution of Captain Cuttle's watch, "Lord, how it 
w^ould run !" as we observed when w^e ran across 
him cutting cord w^ood in the clearing opposite the 
school-house. 

Down at the foot of the hill was the queer house 
of Pat Fitts, a veritable pig-sty, that Avould be fash- 



26 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

ionable enough now, you know. Pat's clock was a 
quaint affair — a hole cut in the south side of the 
house. Sunshine on marks upon the floor denoted 
the time. Pat's clock run down cloudy daj^s. 

These were some of the friends and neighbors of 
the Yankee schoolmaster and his pupils. Under his 
banner w^e flourished. 

Daylight was let into the community by the addi- 
tion of a large number of books to the old school 
library. What a view we had of the outside world 
in Irving's Sketch-book, Trow^bridge's Father Bright- 
hopes, and kindred volumes! What a field of action 
they opened up for usl The ambitions of life are 
formed in school days; their fulfillment and failure 
fall to later times. 

Under one of the desks in that old school-house 
lies a slate with a perfect sketch of a newspaper. The 
heading, '^ The Wolverine Citizen," is in a neat old 
English text. A bit of poetry adorns a column, fol- 
lowed by a melancholy love tale. There is a spicy 
local column, and it is altogether a model newspaper. 
That youth has an ambition for journalism which he 
has long since confided to his seat-mate, who has de- 
veloped similar aspirations; and their waking hourSj 



THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 27 

and dreaming ones too, are devoted to thoughts of 
how they will fashion their aims so that their ambi- 
tions will be fulfilled. 

The spelling school, the debating society, and the 
fugitive magic lantern show are incidents of the 
winter. The crowning success is the exhibition at 
the close of the term. A stage with curtains drawn 
on wires has been improvised. The room has been 
decorated with juniper from the swamp, and the final 
night conies, with an appreciative audience, and the 
successful debut of the youthful actor and the ma- 
chine poet is assured. 

Eing down the curtain on the Yankee school- 
master and his pupils. Eing up the curtain of real 
life, and wc discover from that old school, the bard 
that sings the homely songs of farm life, and en- 
chants the world. We discover, in honorable posi- 
tions in life, in places of trust, a large percentage of 
the scholars of that country school. We see happy 
homes, bright children, and the glorious future. All 
honor to the Yankee schoolmaster and his co- 
laborers! 




TJ^E OLD CHURCH BELL. 

S U M M E E ' S day, 
thirty years ago, Frank 
B. and I were truants on 
a village street together. 
The bell in the old church tower was just striking the 
hour of noon, when I proposed to him a jaunt four 
miles away to m}^ cousin's in the countr}-. 

Filled with the prospect of rural delights, we pur- 
sued our way, and it was well into the afternoon ere. 
we arrived at our journey's end, and on inquiry at 
the old farm-house, found that my cousin, some years 
rny senior, was down by the spring brook with some 
neighboring lads. 

Now on a former visit to this same old farm-house, 
I had been sent of an errand across the farm and 
fields, and along a secluded section of the spring 
brook had come across a scene of animate and inani- 
mate nature that fills me Avith a delightful recollec- 
tion to this day. 

(28) 



THE OLD CHURCH BELL. 29 

No less, as it now seems to me, than a Avhole flock 
of stately storks and cranes in all the meditative and 
dignified postures that one might fancy, were there, 
some on one leg and others with their necks short- 
ened up like an old man in his dreams. Many were 
pursuing frogs and minnows, and all were ranged up 
and down the narrow stream, so that, lest I ^' disturb 
their ancient and solitary reign," I made a long de- 
tour after I had feasted my young wonder on a scene 
rivaling any in the Abyssinian tale of Rasselas in the 
Happy \^alley. 

Frank E. and I found my cousin and his compan- 
ions. They were busily engaged in spearing water- 
snakes with improvised spears, fashioned of wires 
fitted into long poles; and being suspected as truants, 
and known to be town boys, we were not met with 
that particularly warm reception that suited us. 

The afternoon being on the wane, we soon started 
on our homeward way. A short distance on our re- 
turn journey, the brook crossed the highway, and we 
seated ourselves by the road bridge, under the shadow 
of an old red barn, and hunted crabs — great fellows 
with tongue-like claws, that went backward with 
more ease than forward, like some people we know. 



30 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



We Avere walking along wearily enough on our re- 
turn tri]), when my father drove up in a carriage 
from town, having an inkhng of the direction of our 
wandering, and justly, as I now believe, looking on 
me as the instigator of the tour, took my companion 
tourist into the vehicle, compelling me to continue 
the journey according to the original plans and spec- 
ifications, afoot, while their equipage wheeled away 
in the dust. It was not far, but 
the afternoon was gone, and I 
heard" the bells of evening in the 
town before I was gathered in un- 
der the paternal roof. 

From an afternoon's youthful es- 
capade remains the recollections of 
the old church bell. At morn- 
ing, noon, and night, from its 
lofty perch in the bel- 
fry, it marked for the 
villap'ers the divisions 




THE OLD CHURCH BELL. 



31 



of the day. For years, old Aleck Hall, the bellman, 
did faithful service. Long since, the old church bell 
tolled for him the evening of his life, and he was laid 
away to be called when the last trump is sounded. 

Years and years ago, the old bell was superseded 
in secular use by the advent of the town clock. Hele- 
gated to Sabbath service in tones of gospel melodies, 
it pleadingly says, Come, come, COME; while on 
the self-same street of thirty years ago, the hands of 
the town clock point with certainty, time. and eter- 
nity for all mankind, in figures so large that " he 
who runs may read." 




THE BRIDGE. 




CINCE the days of Da- 
^ vid, mankind has loved 



to seek the cool green 
waters. We stood 
by the iron railing 
^ on the highway 

"'-^-^-^.-' fQQj^ bridge, and 

our view was directed up the river, surmounted a 
few rods above us by a substantial stone railway 
bridge, the arch forming a vignette inclosing the 
lovely vicAV that attracted our attention. 

The scene is the growth of circumstances. The 
stone bridge was constructed a few years ago ; then 
the workmen straightened the tortuous course of the 
stream beyond, and finally a large wooden tubing, to 
convey the Avater from the race above to the mill at 
our left, was placed across the -river under the 
bridge, forming a graceful waterfall, while the waste 
water from the mill poured over its gates in a copi- 



THE BRIDGE. 33 

ous cascade. Nature then completed the scene. 
Straight-away the banks have become thickly lined 
with willows that are mirrored in the glassy waters, 
and a number of hitherto barren sand-banks have be- 
come coated with green, and lie in the back-water 
of the improvised dam, like summer islands in a 
placid sea. Caught up by the painter's brush, the 
scene would grace the fairest canvas. 

The spot is historic as well as romantic. Near it, 
ere the virgin forests were disturbed, the little river 
was crossed by the trail of the tribes of Baw Beese 
and Meteau, leading from the head waters at Devil's 
Lake to Squawfield, a cleared place down the valley, 
where the dusky maidens raised Indian corn, while 
their liege lords and masters hunted the game in the 
fastnesses of the Michigan, forests, or idly lounged 
about the wigwam. 

There is a legend of the lake: — 

" There 's a lake with a legend attached to its name, 
Whose cold, dark waves are of world-wide fame ; 
And the wood stretching back from its steep, craggy bank." 

So the poem goes. The story is that an Indian 
warrior was about to wed a princess of his tribe, 
when a stealthy Mohawk stole the bride while she 



34 A CHILD OF GENIUS, 

was seeking some red berries in the bushes on the 
banks of the historic water, with which to deck her 
regal form at the marriage feast. He sought to es- 
cape with his prize by the lake, tempestuous and 
dark, pursued by the warrior in a birchen bark. 
The chieftain put an arrow through his foe, but the 
storm-swept lake enveloped and engulfed him and 
his queen of the forest. 

" Their struggles were vain their lives to save, 
And they sank, O lake, neath thy cold dark wave." 

The ghost of the Mohawk is presumed to have 
haunted the locality, gliding from shore to shore in a 
phantom canoe. The unfettered sons of the forest 
saw in the storm-cloud, that brought disaster, the 
hand of the evil one, so to this time remains the. 
Indian name Michimanitou, signifying lake-of-the- 
evil-spirit, or in homely English, ''Devil's Lake." 

It was at one of the harvest dances, near half a 
century ago, that the Pottawattamies were sur- 
rounded at Squawfield by the regulars from Detroit, 
and conveyed to the West. It is related of Indian 
John, the white man's friend, that he had in his 
possession, when captured, a gun borrowed of a set- 
tler, and that he returned hundreds of miles to de- 



THE BRIDGE. 35 



liver it to its rightful owner, " Smokaman Johi 



Conwine," as he called him. This is an instance of 
the red man's honor not in accord with some views 
of their treachery. Baw Beese and a remnant of his 
tribe escaped to Canada, and the noble chieftain 
died on the shores of Georgian Bay, an alien from 
the home of his fathers, but his name lives in the 
landmarks and history of his country. 

Neighbors were distant in those days. The first 
bridge over the classic stream was built by two 
women of the early settlement, whose homes were 
separated by the Tiffin, a barrier to their visits. At 
low water they bridged it with single slabs which 
they themselves carried from the rude saw-mill. Car- 
penters' horses formed the abutments of this primi- 
tive foot-bridge, but transit was secured, and regular 
old-fashioned visits were frequent. 

JSTow on either hand stretches away the pleasant 
and thrifty village of Lanesville ; Squawfield is rich 
pasture land. The fruitful valley contains fine farms ; 
Devil's Lake has become a noted pleasure resort, 
where the harvest festival is resorted to by tens of 
thousands. 

The pale-faced pleasure-seeker sees in the storm- 



36 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



cloud the hand of nature ; and when the roll of the 
white cap on the angry lake has ceased, the sun 
smiles on a scene of beauty surrounding the lake in 
the green woods, and over the bridge of the TifBn 
rolls the wealth of empire, as it speeds with the iron 
horse on its eastward and westward way. 





,f\AND, 



•The only rea- 
not at this mo- 
wooden shoes in 
swearing in Low 
cause my great, 





son that I am 
ment wearing 
Holland, and 
Dutch, is be- 
great, great 



grandmother, a young lady of the nobility in the land 
of dykes and ditches, fell in love with my equally great 
grandfather, and the match not being countenanced 
— I suspect it was a desperate case — the young couple 
fled to New Amsterdam in some of the early suc- 
cessors to the Half Moon, making the voyage in the 
course of a few months, and were married. Then 
the world, that had in the meantime stood still, 
moved again. It often does stand still for two hearts 
that wildly beat as one, and when it does start up it 
has a mighty lively pace. 

JSTot so with my ancestors, however. True, they 

(37) 



88 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



had moved from an old wo]'ld to a new, but my 

great grandfather must 
have settled down so 
peacefully m Manhat- 
tan with his pipe and 
cabbages, and my great 
grandmother must have 
been engaged in keep- 
ing the floors polished 
and other household 
arts new to her, and the 
Knickerbockers, Scher- 
merhorns, Ten Broecks, 
and Joneses must have 
proved such good neigh- 
bors, perhaps going to 
the remarkable extent 
of returning some bor- 
rowed articles, — good, 
kind neighbors, who, if 
intrusted with a family 
secret, found some one 
to help them keep it, — 
that my ancestors in New Amsterdam became ob- 
livious to their possessions in Old Amsterdam, 




MY GRANDMOTHEH'S BOOTS. 39 

But for this bit of independence manifested by my 
great grandmother, in marrying the man of her 
choice, I suppose that at this time I might have been 
a high and honorable burghmaster, or leastwise the 
superintendent of a windmill in that distant land. 1 
imagine myself seated on the sunny side of the wind- 
mill, dreamily sitting on a bench with my back 
against the mill and my legs extended. I wear the 
funniest cap on my head, and have on the queerest 
blouse, and great barn-door breeches that reach 
nearly to my armpits, and terminate in a shortage 
below the knees. 

The wind whirls the spectral arms of the Avind- 
mill in my care. What care I for affairs of state ? 
There are no doughty Don Quixotes, bent on knight- 
errantry, prowling about to assail my charge, under 
the delusion that it is a foe. My mind is at tran- 
quillity ; I take phlegmatic puffs at my pipe, and 
dreamily picture, in the whiffs of smoke, my Frau 
and the fiaxen-haircd babies. That job would suit 
a day-dreamer like me. 

Then I picture myself in the elevated position of 
burghmaster. With what an imperious and lofty 
manner I wield the scepters of power in my sm:;H 



40 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

domain ! With what auo;ust veneration the decisions 
on the weighty matters brought for my judgment 
are regarded ! How I sustain the dignity of the high 
office, with a fat, round belly touching my knees, and 
my short, dumpy legs barely reaching under the 
official table. There is terror in the frown over my 
heavyj iron-bowed spectacles. Over my cup and pipe 
I am prone to fall asleep, and then the young rogues 
in my service are wont to do grievous things ; and 
when I am awakened by the smack of a kiss, I hit 
the table with a thunderous rap of the fist, and 
sternly reprove them. I may, some day, give my 
sanction and blessing to Hans and Laura, but they 
must have proper regard for my official presence. 
When I preside at a meeting of the high and honor- 
able aldermen, I fill the seat with dignity and rule 
with sternness. These pictures are dispelled by the 
thought that, of a fact, I am lean and lank, and 
a ever in America have I aspired even to the dignity 
and proportions of an alderman. 

Now just why the effort, in my time and genera- 
Aon, to secure our vast estates in Holland failed, I 
aave forgotten. It is one of the recollections of child- 
I.ood. How we listened to my mother, and noted the 



MY GRANDMOTHER'S BOOTS. 41 

affirmations of my father. Ah, wealth, you have a 
golden ring that makes us all luxurious. We are 
paupers to-day, but Avill be princes to-morrow. Yes ; 
but then to-morrow is a debtor that seldom pays. 
Yet there is a glory in anticipation that i^ays to-day ; 
let us grasp and cherish it while we may. 

I remember the construction of the family tree : 
how the genealogy was traced in the numerous con- 
ferences of relatives, and we were located on a branch 
of the tree, — the great expectations and the assess- 
ments — let us not forget the assessments. A prom- 
inent relative had, for a valuable consideration, inter- 
ested himself in our behalf, and was pushing investi- 
gations, so it was said, among the old records. A 
great barrier to the establishment of the lineage and 
proving our claims to the inheritance was the de- 
struction, by tire, of the old Dutch church in New 
York City, by the British, during the Eevolutionary 
war, and the consequent destruction of the record 
of the marriage of my ancestors. 

The failure to supply this missing link of evidence 
is all that prevents my joining the nobility in Europe 
to-day. Having never been able to obtain a fortune 
iii Iloliarid, or elsewhere, I am consoled with the 



42 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



thought that my very great grandmother conferred 
a greater blessing on me by making me a citizen of 
this great and glorious Republic. 

I have relinquished all claims 
to my Dutch possessions. 1 sup- 
pose that if William of Orange 
had failed, and the efforts of 
Philip II. had prevailed, they 
would have been my castles in 
Spain. Fortune has decreed dif- 
ferently with both Philip and 
me. The possessions are not 
ours. I am forced to this con- 
clusion. Some may wait for dead men's shoes, but I 
will never wear my grandmother's boots. 





THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 



^^^ HE dramatis jjersoncB of this re- 
cital will be, to begin with, a 
prince and a poet. The scene 
opens on the business portion 
of the main street of a village. 
The first act discloses Mr. Leon 
Isaacs, the prince, short and 
fat, florid and jolly, who halts 
his pony, attached to a red 
road wagon, in front of a coun- 
store. Enter street scene, from store 
Mr. Hieronymus James, poet if 
please, long and lank, dark and re- 
^, bearing first a jointed fishing rod, 
box of tackle, a canvas satchel, a 
broad-brimmed straw hat, and sundry fishing sup- 
plies, which he deposits alongside a similar outfit be- 
longing to the prince, in the back part of the wagon. 
The poet being seated in the vehicle, hands the 
prince a cigar and lights one himself, the pony mean- 

(43) 




44 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

time being set in motion toward their destination, 
ten m.iles away. 

Their evident object is a fishing excursion, and 
their departure attracts the attention of the dull old 
street, which is awakened from a mid-summer's leth- 
argic slumber by any relieving incident. 

The little nag ultimately leaves the village behind, 
and by proper urging and vigilant reminders, actually, 
now and then, jogs into a trot. Like previous trav- 
elers over the same route, they discover that the 
road lies before them, and that if they go far 
enough they will, sooner or later, arrive at their 
destination. 

The route lies through pleasant country roads, 
past a sleepy hamlet, with its solitary church. The 
only animated object is the blacksmith's forge, that 
is all aglow with its ruddy fires. 

The travelers have wisely chosen the cool of the 
evening for their journey, and the second act opens 
at a semi-fashionable summer hotel, a long, low, two- 
story building, with inviting verandas, situated on 
the shores of one of their interior lakes. 

The travelers are warmly welcomed by mine host 
of the inn. Their traps are stored in the waiting 



THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 45 

room, and the pony placed snugly in quarters in the 
stable. 

The inner man regaled, the after-supper cigar ig 
lighted. Enter a bevy of ladies upon the scene — 
Mrs. Anne Belle Harding, a charming beauty; Mrs. 
Wells, an entertaining widow; Miss Jessie Ayres, 
an entertaining school-marm ; Mrs. Ayres, mother oi 
the two latter ladies and general superintendent in 
charge of the pleasure-seekers, whose homes are in 
a distant city. 

By courtesy of the landlady, the prince knows the 
whole party in two minutes and a half, and is all 
smiles and favors, while the poet retires behind his 
reserve, and is evidently bothered with the idea 
that anything should interfere with the prime object 
of the excursion — fishing. The prince, however, is 
quite a fisher of hearts. 

Further addition is made to the party by the en- 
trance of Mr. Thomas Jones, old and sear and rakish 
withal, a hulk old enough to have gone to Davy 
Jones's locker, it is true, and now here he is starting 
out for a new cruise with his young and doll-like 
wife, and with her marry ing- her- daughter-off-for- 
money mother for chief mate. 



46 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

It is easily perceived that Mr. Jones is patronizing 
and offensive, and desires to be regarded as some- 
thing of a lion, having heralded himself as the first 
proprietor of a somewhat noted hotel in a great city. 
He regards these laurels a sufficient guarantee to war- 
rant his claim for incessant attention and deference. 

He has come to this quiet place to spend a few 
days of the honeymoon, and brought his mother-in- 
law along. She is a woman of fifty, aping the airs 
of twenty, and it is whispered about, ''Why didn't 
he marry his mother-in-law ? " Perhaps he did better, 
and married the whole family. They are to leave 
in the morning, however, and the party will be re- 
lieved of their affectation. 

The curtain of night goes down on the scene, and 
the hotel is mantled in darkness. The silence is 
broken by the wash of waves on the shore, and by 
loud snores resounding through board partitions and 
mingling with the fierce cry of the musquito, vainly 
endeavoring to gain entrance through the net-pro- 
tected windows, that he may pursue his victim to the 
death. 

The scenic artist of early dawn has set the scene 
on a hot, panting, breathless morn. The lake lies 



THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 47 

motionless and lifeless as a dead sea. The fisher- 
man-fevered prince and poet have early arisen, and, 
with disappointed faces, note the unfavorable con- 
dition of the lake for their sport. There is surely no 
good fishing this morning, but they fly in the face of 
fate, and seek the favorite fishing grounds across the 
lake. But it is utterly useless, and they give it up. 
It is the opportunity, but not the time. They con- 
clude to bide their time. 

They are returning to the landing when they dis- 
cover that the mother-in-law has hired a boatman, 
and is trying her luck at fishing, but la ! it is noth- 
ing like fishing for a son-in-law, and the old lady is 
discomfited enough. That boatman though, — it be- 
comes the settled idea of the prince and poet com- 
bined, that he could catch fish on dry land ! The 
close condition of the atmosphere has, in the mean- 
time, engendered rain, great spattering drops of 
w^iich have begun to sift down upon the water, and 
the fishermen hastily seek the shore, and none too 
soon, for the storm is rapidly thickening and growl- 
ing in intensity. Behind the curtain of the heavens 
they fire the lightning's flash and shake sheet-iron 
thunder. 



48 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

Mr. Thomas Jones and his party have an early 
breakfast, and, despite the storm, are making hurried 
preparations to embark in the little steam launch 
that is to convey them to the railway station at the 
head of the lake, four miles away. The severity of 
the storm has no effect upon Jones and the captain 
of the craft, a little man, with no spare meat upon 
his bones, but with a heart in him like the heart of 
an ox. With large and well-rounded oaths he swears 
that the storm is no detriment to his making the 
trip. 

The final exit of Jones and company is while the 
rest of the guests are at breakfast. He rushes into 
the dining hall, as if it was the last thing he would 
do on earth, and hands to one of the waiting girls, 
whom he imagines has done him a favor, a silver 
quarter. She smiles, and the guests shout, " Good- 
by, Jones ! " 

The storm seems to increase in fury, as the little 
craft makes her way across the raging waters, careen- 
ing in the wind until they are lost to sight in the 
storm and wave. The captain afterward averred 
that it was a perilous passage. 

The prince and poet are finishing their morning 



THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 



49 



meal when the latter is startled by a sudden admir- 
ing smile si^reading over the face of his companion, 
caused, as he rapidly discovers, by a pretty waiting 
girl throwing a kiss at him from an adjoining entry- 
way, — an act that the prince is only restrained from 
returning by the publicity of his lo- 
cation. The incident would have 
utterly disconcerted the poet, but 
it only added zest to the meal for 
the prince. 

It is quite evident, also, that the 
ladies they met the previous evening 
are susceptible to the charms of the 
polished prince, Mrs. Anne Belle 
Harding in pcirticular, and possibly 
some of the ladies might not be averse to a bashful 
poet. 

The storm abates, and in the pleasures of the day 
it is easy to see the preference of the ladies ex- 
pressed ; and when Miss Jessie Ayres ceases rowing 
her boat long enough to throw her right hand on 
that portion of the anatomy commonly credited with 
containing the heart, and in tragic tones exclaims, 
''Be still, sad heart," the prince suggests to the poet 

4 • 




50 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



that it means hinij and slaps him on the shoulder en- 
thusiastically, saying, "Go in, old boy." But the 
" old boy " is timid and bashful, and it takes time to 
thaw out his reserve. Meantime, between fishing 
and'flirting, the prince is having a jolly time. 

In the evening the poet goes out to set some poles 
for night-fishing, and Miss Jessie suggests that she 
would like an eel. Sure enough, in the morning, 
when Hieronymus examines the set lines, he finds a 
medium-sized eel attached to one of them. It is con- 
signed to the cook, and the ladies are informed of its 
capture. The last vestige of the poet's reserve van- 
ished over the discussion about how that eel should 
be cooked. 

When the fishermen took the boat to seek their 
prey that morning, Miss Ayres informed the poet 
that she believed she would have that eel made into 
an eel pie for dinner. ^^ The morning is pro- 

pitious for sport J r\ ^^^^ QTid the jolly fish- 

ermen are quite ^^M^ i^) successful — one 







THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 51 

very large bass in particular adorns their string, 
which they keep suspended from the oar locks in 
the water to keep it fresh. 

After they have become satisfied with the size of 
their capture, they seek the outlet of the lake, where 
the pond lilies grow, thinking to lay some trophies 
at the feet of the ladies. They find some very fine 
ones, and are poling the boat through the lily pads 
when the prince exclaims, ^' See that fish ! " and 
w^hirls the boat in the direction that he is calling at- 
tention to, captures it, and makes the surprising 
discovery that it is their own string that has broken 
loose from contact with the lily pads. So they nar- 
rowly escape losing the result of the forenoon's labor. 

The handsome lilies are graciously received by the 
ladies, and the elated fishermen depart for their aft- 
ernoon's fishing with light and exultant hearts. 
But when they return, at evening, there is more 
commotion about the dock and grounds. There has 
evidently been a large number of new arrivals. A 
number of boats, with strange faces, are seeking the 
pleasures of the evening on the lake. Past our 
friends in grand style there sweeps an elegant four- 
oared barge, that sets like a canoe on the waters. It 



53 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

is light and graceful, with handsome trimmings, and 
of foreign construction in rich, dark woods, finished 
in the natural color. vSnugly ensconsed therein, on 
familiar terms with the occupants, and especially the 
fair young man, who is the master of the craft, is 
Anne Belle Harding. It is very plain that the nose 
of the prince is out of joint. Neither prince nor poet 
has any such inducement for the company of the 
charmer as the new-comer. 

The two forlorn fishermen seek their couches early 
that night, and Cxcorge and his friends, the new ar- 
rivals, have free SAvay. The old piano is all of a 
jingle (for the new-comers are musical), and the 
magnificent voice of George blends with the ladies' 
voices, and the prince and poet toss restlessly about, 
unable — from the frivolity in the parlor below — to 
find sleep. 

Finally the quartet have " sung out," and seek 
their quarters, much to the relief of the regular 
boarders, who despair of having quiet. It is, how- 
ever, practically jumping out of the frying-pan into 
the fire ; for the parties keep up a running fire of 
questions and conversation. One of the young la- 
dies, judged to be George's sister, cries out, " Gawge, 



THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 



53 



what have you got in your room?" and " G-awge " 
takes pains to enumerate that he has •• a basswood 
bedstead, a chair, a wash-bowl," etc. The last thing 
heard is '' Gawge, Gawge ! " 

George and his friends are found to be real good 
fellows, on more intimate acquaintance the next day, 
and the prince and the ])oet find them '• hale fellows 
well met" in their fishing sports, and take genuine 
pleasure in pointing out to them the 
best fishing grounds, according to their 
judgment and experience. 

They are solaced for the rivalry 
among the ladies rather unexpectedly. 
That evening there is a dance at the 
landing below, and upon invita- 
tion of the captain of the steam 
launch, the whole party 
embarks, and is conveyed 
thither. This opens 
up new fields 
for the 
prince 
to con- 
({ u e r ; 




54 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

but the poet is content to view the scene of gaiety 
and hold the hat of the prince, while he ''sails in." 
The latter is carried by storm, in an unexpected 
manner. After the first quadrille, a schottishe is 
announced, and he is approached by a superblj^- 
tormed woman, the belle of the ball, who requests 
his company, as there are few fancy dancers present, 
and they revel in the gay and giddy dance. He 
would be content to dance all night but for the fact 
the steamer is ready to depart ; and, as they go, he 
w^hispers her name, " Mrs. Blank," to the poet, and 
consoles himself that George is nowhere. 

The next morning witnesses an end to the life of 
the prince and poet at the watering place. Dobbin 
is hitched up, and the pleasure-seeking pair take 
their departure, with the adieus and good wishes of 
new-found friends showered upon them. They drive 
down to the landing, where the dance was held the 
evening before. They meet a lady of their acquaint- 
ance on the hotel porch, and manage to ask about 
Mrs. Blank, and find that the lady in question is quite 
the subject of general conversation, that her advent 
and history are veiled in doubt, and that there is no 
little gossip about it anyway. They drive away wiser 



1 



THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 55 

(and may we not say better?) for the experience ; 
and the prince makes the poet swear, by all that is 
good, that he will never say anything about the ten- 
der affair to any one. 

An episode occurred as they were emerging from 
the thicket that skirts the road. They noticed a 
couple of lair young ladies, whom they had met at 
the party the previous evening. They were gather- 
ing red berries from the bushes, like the Indian maid- 
ens that tradition says formerly frequented the same 
locality. 

The poet was attracted by the mysterious motions 
of the prince — was he? — Yes, he was actually throw- 
ing a kiss at one of the fair ones, and the poet was an 
eye-witness to the fact that it Avas returned. What 
an altered demeanor was that of the prince for the 
balance of their journey ! 

Their steed is soon headed on his homeward way, 
and the prince returns to the bosom of his family, 
to his wife and babies, whom he adores. The grand 
finale is a tableau, — red lights, with Avedding drapery 
and orange blossoms at the marriage of the poet to 
his best girl. 




JOHN THE 

PHOBVEE would have thought that 
Sarah Maria would many John, com- 
monly known as John the Good-for- 
Naught? Nobody thought he was her 
style, the great hulking fellow who never 
went to school of any account, ''John, John, 
the Piper's son, stole a pig aud home he 
run! " was the taunt the boys flung at him one day 
from their rude play ground, on the common sur- 
rounding the old brown school-house, as John was 
riding past. 

John complained to his " Dad " about that, and he 
spoke to Jke's — the ringleader's — father about it. 

(56) 




JOHN THE PIPER'S SON. Sy 

The next day Avhen the somber form of the sire of 
Isaac towered up in the school-room, and he drew 
from the capacious folds of his great coat a long 
beech gad, silence prevailed 

The words of the wrathful father fell with fearful 
force on the stillness : " My son Isaac, I have a pain- 
ful duty to perform ; I must make an example of 
you," and he did. Ike buried his face in his hands 
on the jack-knife carved desk in front of him, while 
the deliberate blows of the whip rained on him. 
Some of the example fell on to the boy in the seat 
with him, but nothing was lost. 

The shame was more cutting to Ike than the 
blows, however. Every guilty boy felt their strokes 
just as painfully on his back ; and when the stern 
old man folded his garments about him and withdrew 
as silently as he came, an oppressiveness remained 
behind. There was a feeling that something had 
happened that forenoon, and Ike was not taunted 
about it. 

When it came to excursions in the woods or up 
the river, the boys were always glad enough to have 
John for a leader. He knew where to find the pig- 
eons' nests, and the best fishing grounds, and was 
well up in the arts of wood-craft and sportsmen. 



58 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

He had grown to be nothing diffei^ent when the 
wedding occurred. She was so refined and classical 
that it was all the more wonder that it happened. 
But she was spliced up to him, and they went to live 
in one of Dad's houses, for he had a number that he 
rented. The match was the one day's wonder and 
talk of the town, and then it died away. 

So they settled down to life ; but John did n't 
settle down to anything in particular, only he would 
take his gun and hound and go down the valley. 
His arts as a hunter were supreme. He could find a 
coon in the tallest tree, and follow the fox farther 
over the hill, and never was so free as when alone in 
the woods or with boon companions on a hunting ex- 
cursion. 

He got right down near to nature, and loved the 
rough valleys and hills. But his arts as a husband 
were nowhere. It came to be a settled thing that 
John was shiftless. His wife began to appreciate that, 
and the question with her was how they were going 
to get a living. Coon skins stretched on a board in 
the back yard would n't do it ; fox tails made into 
feather dusters wouldn't do it; woodchuck hides 
cut into whip-lashes wouldn't do it, and that was 



JOHN THE PIPER'S SON, 59 

about all the visible income ; and to add to her dis- 
comfiture, John took to drink. 

Boon companions and being a good fellow proved 
too much for him — the same as it has for many an- 
other whole-souled fellow. Matters went from bad 
to worse with them, and the poor crushed wife was 
compelled to withdraw from the marriage compact, 
and go home. _0f course everybody had known 
how it would end, at least that is what they said 
then. 

Sure enough, in the course of time, John had a no- 
tice served on him something like this : — 

STATE OF MICHIGAN, ) ^ ^^ 



In the Circuit Court for the r t r^ 

COUNTY OF Lenawee, S^^ Chancery. 

To the Circidt Court for the County of Lenatvee. 
Humbly complaining showeth unto the court here, etc. 

When they got out of chancery they were no 
more, that is, as they had been before. The divorce 
was granted on grounds of non-support. She was 
appalled by the calamity, and he was stunned by it. 

The first gun that was fired on Sumter woke up 
John alono; with the rest of the countrv. It was stir- 



60 



A. CHILD OF GENIUS. 



ring times in Lanesville when the first company was 
raised. With all the glorious pomp and circumstance 
of war, they drilled on the village 
green, and all the town, and coun- 
try too, was out to see them march 
and countermarch. 

The flying flags and beating 
drums and shrieking fifes animated 
the populace and recruits alike. 
The doughty militia captain in 
epaulets and cocked hat, pranced 
before them greater than a general. 
It was "right dress," "right 
wheel," and " about face." Great 
days in Lanesville when the first 
recruits were raised. 

John was one of the first to sign 
the roll, and one of the most stal- 
wart figures in the ranks. In fact, 
^^ his commanding figure won him 

the position of color-bearer in the regiment when it 
assembled at the rendezvous. He was one of the 
most trusty and daring men in the field. His early 




JOHN THE PIPER'S SON. 61 

habits had hiured him to exposure, so that he was 
"no sunshine patriot or summer day soldier." 

It Avas at Malvern that his bravery in that hail of 
shot and shell won him his bars. Bravo, John ! in 
the midst of death he had found a purpose in life. 
Antietam, Fredericksburgh, Chancellorsville, Gettys- 
burgh, the Wilderness, and Appomattox marked his 
career. 

Sarah Maria had not been indifferent to the stirring 
scenes of strife. She was the central figure in the 
ladies' aid society in the little village. It is to be ex- 
pected that some softening influence worked on the 
hearts of both, for when Captain John Smith came 
marching home again, from Old Virginia, hurrah ! 
there was a grand reunion at ' Squire Brown's, on the 
hill. Dad and Captain John were there, Ike and the 
rest of the boys that came back — don't let us forget 
Sarah Maria — and God again joined together what 
man had put asunder. 

'* A union of hearts and a union of hands. 
And the flag of our Union forever." 

By the way, John is a deacon in our church now, 
and Sarah Maria is a useful member of the church 
and society. 




THE LOST FATHER. 

Y grandfather told me, years ago, about 
the merry blacksmith, who, in the early 
days of Pegtown, was known as the 
happy huntsman of the valley. He was 
jolly alike at the forge or in the forest, and his 
laughing jest and side-splitting stories were as keen 
as his eye on the rifle-sights. 

He mingled his good-natured songs with the blasts 
of the bellows, and the merry time-beats with the 
blows of his hammer on the anvil, and turned his 
tunes with the turning of the irons in the forge, the 
blows of his hammer on the anvil meantime striking 
oif a shower of sparks before which the barefooted 
and barelegged youngsters would retreat in dismay 
But they would come back again. There was a 
fond fascination for them in the fund of bear and 
ghost stories the blacksmith was wont to relate to 
the open-mouthed urchins, until every one of them 
became such cowards that they ventured out of 
nights only in fear and trembling that magnified 

(Q2) 



THE LOST FATHEH. 



63 



every bowlder into a ghost and every fstump into a 
man-eater. 

All I knew of the blacksmith was that he had gone 
to the gold fields of California in the excitement of 
the years following 1848, leaving his wife and two 
bright children behind in the 
newly-founded home in the 
settlement. The chil- 
dren, Will and 
Lucy, were my /^— ^^-^^^^ Our play - 

^''^^''^'^ /^^^^ r gi'oundwas 

companions. ^^(i^^.M c^ f on the village 

common. I was 
o f t e n a f r e - 
quenter of their 
home, and we grew 
up together in the village school. 

Letters were luxuries in those days, and my re- 
membrance is that the high hope of that household 
was to hear from '^father." The first missives in 
that rugged and unaccustomed hand breathed a 
hope that their fortune would be forth-coming. 
They told of the discomforts of camp life, and how 
they got along in the '' diggin's." The hopes of the 




6-1 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

truistful wife Avere suspended on a slender thread that 
grew weaker and was broken when the letters 
ceased entirely. The last rumor that found its way 
to the village w^as that he had been seen with others 
flocking to new finds on the Prazer Eiver. That 
was the last news that came back of that ''father." 

The mother, despairing, grew weary and laid 
down her burden of life. Will and Lucy were con- 
signed to the care of a guardian, and the common 
welfare of the villagers as well, and grew to useful 
positions in manhood and womanhood. The village 
grew, and the old homestead became valuable for 
business property, affording a competence in its dis- 
posal. With the years to come the brother and sis- 
ter became reconciled to the loss of their mother. It 
IS. well we mourn — no life is rounded and complete 
without sorrow. But it is better that we forget, and 
let the past mold itself into pleasant recollections in 
our minds, that Ave may more manfully perform 
our obligations to the living. 

But the thought Avould come back to them, 
•'Where is father?" Him they could not forget. 
Would he come back to them? Children of their 
own cluster about their happy homes, and 1 hey jour- 



THE LOST FATHER. 



65 



ney on to eternity. The old village has sunk into 
decay and is scarce marked save by name ; but the 
hope of the return of the lost father will never decay. 



He did come back. One day, by the western train, 
there came to town a strange, old-fashioned, and 
weather-beaten man, belted about the waist and 
rough shod. No one knew him. He 
sought his children, and with them is 
passing his declining years. "With his 
grandchildren upon his knees, he recounts 
new bear stories and tales of ghosts that 
stalk on the far-away shores of the Pa- 
cific. The search for gold had taken him 
"' far from civilization and the mails, and he 
delved away after the precious hoard in the hope of 
returning to make his family happy. The one regret 
that clouded the joy of the reunion was that the 
mother was not there to share it with them. 

5 




'f~^^1^^ 



^Vii^<^:' 



TOO LATE! 




former. 



HAYE seen him through the 
window, bolstered in his great 
chair. The old man was stern 
and gray, waiting only for 
interest and death. For him 
the latter came too swiftly on 
apace, and all too slowly the 
Yet they were the destiny the 
old man had marked out for himself 
The ashes of the fires of his love had 
long since grown cold on the altar of his affection, 
save for sordid gain. His avarice cried, '' Give, give! " 
No matter over whose wrecked hopes and downtrod- 
den fortunes came gain for him, it brought exultation 
and no pity — business was business. 

For him life was no summer afternoon's jaunt 
through the green fields. N^ature, in her loveliness, 
strewed no spring flowers at his feet; and on the 
cool breezes of the woodland neither, for him, did the 
birds pipe their lay. Eather with the rude, rough 

(66) 



TOO LATE ! 67 

side of life did he struggle in contact with, and arrive 
at, success by main strength and endurance. 

She who had known his early affections, and 
might have shared his joys and sorrows, arrived at 
the idea that life had for her a sorrow of its own, a 
blighted affection, an ignored existence. His cold, 
grasping life afforded no satisfaction to her, and 
snubbed at the beginning, she sank from nonentity 
to the grave. 

The day came when John Morris lay on his death- 
bed. He had sent for his son, whom he had ignored 
and left to shift for himself, and who had sunk, 
through despair, to degradation. The old man's 
heart had relented in his last days. 

As the son entered his room, his heart softened 
still more toward him, — a green place in the old 
man's life, and there had not been many of them. 
He opened his arms and cried, '' My son, forgive me 
for years of neglect; all I h:ive is yours henceforth 
and forever! " But the son fell on the covers, and 
cried, '' Alas! father, it is too late; j^our bount}^ 
comes too late for me; I am a bloated wreck. In 
my misery I have sought refuge in the cup, and gone 
down, down, down. My wife and babies have gone 



G3 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



clothed in rags. They may enjoy it now, but I am 
irrevocably and hopelessly lost. My prospects in 
life were fair, and I yearned for your succor. 1 had 
a fair wife and fond children, and all that God en- 
dows a brave man with —all but your sympathy, 
father, ^ow, 1 am just ragged ' Bill Morris!' " 

The old man's breast heaved with emotion. The 
canker had entered his heart. When they looked on 
him again, the old man was dead. 





' UP HILL AND DOW^N 
DALE. 

^ YBIL is six, together we are 
forty-six; quite a respectable 
number of years on two shoul- 
We like a quiet jaunt together 
the fields and woods, and she 
asks me many questions that are hard to 
answer. She has fairly budded into 
childhood, and is fast storing a stock 
of practical knowledge that will last her 
a lifetime, and grow in accumulations. 

I answer her questions as best I may, and note 
with pleasure the quiet surprise and satisfaction 
evinced by her as she comprehends matters hitherto 
unknown to her. I am glad to perceive the correct- 
ness of many of her own observations related to me. 
All the winter she has reveled in the delights of 
the snow that fell as pure and undefiled as her gaiety, 

(69) 



70 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

and now spring has come. The showers of April 
have placed the bloom upon the earth. Every green 
thing is putting forth its kind. The fruit-trees are 
laden with their blossoms, the tulips have unfolded, 
and the purple bloom is on the lilac. The maples are 
disclosing a light shade of green. O'er all the lawn 
luxuriantly waves, in a million tiny spears, the green 
blades of grass, that present a smooth, pleasing pros- 
pect to the eye. The white bloom of the orchards 
throws a white-veiled wedding halo over the land. It 
is the old earth that has found a new love in the 
gaily-decked maiden, Spring, who has come tripping 
merrily through the forest and over the meadow to 
greet him. Nature, in her loveliness, has chosen the 
best colors to deck the scene ; man could not paint 
them better. 

To-day the rain had ceased, and over the land 
smiled the glorious sunshine, broken only by the 
fleecy clouds that sailed in the sky. It was like unto 
a perfect day, and the young spring-time was putting 
forth with renewed vigor. It was just the time, 
withal, for an afternoon's jaunt by Sybil and me up 
hill and down dale. 

So we sallied forth together, rapidly gained the 



trp HILL AND DOWN DALE. 7l 

outskirts of the town, and emerged into the village 
commons. She knows about them, and asks me about 
some adjoining fields: ''Why ain't they commons 
too? " My answer is. Because they are inclosed and 
occupied and not thrown open to common use. In 
fact, the very field she points to now, in 7ii7j youthful 
day was residence property. I narrated to her 
that here in this secluded place stood the log cabin of 
an aged grandfather and grandmother, long since 
dead and gone. Nothing, save a thrifty maple, 
marks the site of the home of their declining years. 
In the change of property the ploughman tills the 
field, not knowing that here was once a happy and 
humble home, where existed all the hopes and anx- 
ieties that pervade the human breast ; all are now 
mingled with the dust, and hope alone is triumphant 
and unforgotten. 

The low-lying pasture lands and gardens before us 
Avere in those days a swampy morass, penetrated by 
the corduroy road, and resorted to by the berry-pick- 
ers. The conquering hand of man, aided by a liberal 
tax for a county drain, has been at Avork, and the bit 
of wilderness has indeed been made to blossom as the 
rose. 



t3 A CHILD OP GENIUS. 

The prospect is fair and pleasing to the eye, and 
we journey on, clambering over fences, skirting hill- 
sides, avoiding suspicious-looking cows, and fearing 
some coltish-looking horses may charge on us, with 
their native instinct, in a squadron like cavalry. In 
our exertions we begin to warm up and feel the sun- 
shine on our backs and the weight of our clothing. 
Over another fence makes us quite safe. 

We skirt the margins of some yet unclaimed 
swamps, wherein the brown and sere relics of last 
year's cat-tails are visible, and notice the white flow- 
ers of the box-wood trees, beyond our reach because 
of the water in the swamps. The cat-birds call, and 
flit about within their marshy precincts. 

The half-cleared woodland lies in a grass-covered 
slope before us, and is clothed in beauty. It is like 
green lanes and pastures down through the gap in 
the fence. The umbrella shaped mandrake grows in 
profusion, and our pathway is strewn with flowers. 
The musical and discordant cries of the birds are 
heard on every hand. Careening like a ship in the 
air, a w^ide-winged hawk sails above us. As he sails 
ill majesty, he is attended by convoy or corsair in 
the small bird whose incessant attentions he can nei- 



Up hill and bowN dAL£. t3 

ther repel nor escape if he desires to. Only when he 
settles momentarily on a dry limb, does his apparent 
tormentor seem to cease harassing. 

We seat ourselves beneath an oak tree, and my 
young companion interests herself in gathering some 
last year's acorns, and noticing their beauty and 
symmetry. Presently we are up and away, and 
come to the bluffs of the river. Now our river is bet- 
ter known as the creek, and it meanders through the 
bottom-lands in a tortuous course, sometimes faster 
over gravelly rapids, ofttimes slower in eddies and 
deep holes under the bank of the bends. In the 
summer time, under sun and drouth, it shrinks to 
small proportions ; but it is always pure and fresh ; 
running, as it does to-day, in the warm sunshine, in 
ripples over the gravel stones, and hurrying on, on 
forever. 

We pick up some flat slate stones on its wash- 
gravel beds, and skip them on its surface. The min- 
nows swarm in the quiet back-water of the sand-bank, 
and lying on the gravelly bottom we observe a school 
of hand-long stone-rollers, which flit here and there in 
their occasional display of activity. We notice that 
in swift water it is ofttimes easier for them to swim 
with the stream, like humanity. 



t4 A CHILD Of genius. 

Some cattle are cropping the grass near by, and 
one of them wanders down by the river side and 
draws long, refreshing draughts of the living water. 
When mid-summer comes, the herd will seek seclusion 
from the heat and insects by retreating to the water* 
A scene of contentment without a rival is an old coW 
standing in the deep-running water, ruminating over 
her cud and giving an occasional switch with her 
tail at a fugitive fly* 

Sybil discovers that the bottom land is covered 
with blue violets, and she sets to gathering them and 
requests iny assistance, but I find that my avoirdu- 
pois is rather against my bending over, and not what 
it used to be. Up the hill-side she adds some ferns to 
her bouquet and on top of the bluff some white flowers 
and lilies ; so, with shells from the shore and flow- 
ers from the forest, we march home with laurels for 
the dear ones we left behind. 




T^HE mind of man knows no greater 
^ pleasures than those of youth. Later 
years, with all their triumphs and fulfill- 
ments, bring also disappointments that 
tinge with sorrow the pleasures of age. 
Perhaps it is well that we meet with dis- 
asters ; for, on the ruins wrought by them, 
we rise to nobler conceptions of manhood 
and the fellowship of man in the great 
brotherhood. They cause us to have a keener 
relish for the simple joys of our youth. With what 
fondness we recur to life on the old farm in boyhood 
days ! The boy on the farm is as happy as a lark, 
and as free to commune with the better side of na- 
ture as the songster of the meadows. His knowl- 
edge of things enlarging by constant contact with 
the great forces about him, he is a dullard indeed 

(75) 



16 



A Child of geniu^; 



who does not have his wits sharpened, and be bettei^ 
prepared for the battl.e of life, from having been a 
boy on a farm. 

That boy knew all about the orchard. For him 




the orchard trees blossomed and fruited and ripened 
in the summer sim. Beyond the orchard a huge 
willow swayed its languishing foliage. From the 
bank beneath its shade bubbled the waters of the 



THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 77 

spring, trickling down the ravine out of the half bar- 
[ rel that received it. How often he has laid his straw 
hat on the bank and, with his body prone to earth, 
drank from the fountain-head the cool, clean liquid, 
and arose refreshed in body and spirit ! 

Up the lane, the great thoroughfare of the farm, 
the cows in his charge were wont to come of an 
evening into the barn-yard, following the tinkling 
bell of their leader. What a center of life the old 
barn-yard was ! The great straw stack afforded 
tumbling ground for his idle hours. Beneath the 
eaves of the brown, weather-beaten barn, the swal- 
lows had built their tenements of clay, and flitted in 
and out of the star-like opening in the gable, and the 
doves winged their flight from their cote. 

With gun on his shoulder in squirrel time, he was 
wont to go down the lane, through the Elysian fields. 
That waving corn^ standing in soldierly rows and 
flapping its green ribbons in the summer breeze, he 
had in the spring time thought over, and fought over 
every furrow that had been turned for its reception, 
as he had marched up and down the field. When the 
tiny blades had just appeared, and he had marshaled 
his hosts against the invading forces of weeds, and 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



rode rough shod through the ranks of green coats 
with a double-shovel plow, in his mind he had also 
won battles in other fields of action, where the boy 
had pictured himself a man. Involved in a day- 
dream, his vision was a poem of life. What boy has 
not had them ? The dream of life has extended from 
then to now, and yet the battle is not won. The 
heart is filled with a strange un-- 
rest, a longing not satisfied. 

The lane led him down by the 
waving grain, with its golden 
promise. The shadows of shift- 
ing clouds were chased over its 
surface by the winds. The per- 
fume of the clover field filled 
the air with incense. The 
great round-topped maple, 
green of foliage, and with cool, 
shade, stood afield. 
The solitary stub that 
stood in the 
lane was the 
watch- 
tower of 




THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 79 

a marauding hawk, who, from his outpost, watched 
the fowls of the barn-yard, ready to pounce down 
upon his unsuspecting victims. This old robber was 
as big a coward as he was a thief, and a shot at him 
needed to l?e taken at long range, lest he take alarm 
and sail away. The coarse cries of the croAvs were 
provoking, but you can't fool an old crow if y^ou try. 
The half pasture, half woodland at the end of the 
lane was to him a picture of pastoral loveliness. 
Through its soft soil the brook had broken its way, 
and was spanned by a rude bridge. Minnows chased 
in its shallows and rapids, and over miniature falls it 
emptied into a huge box, where the sheep Avere 
cleaned for shearing. In this sylvan retreat sleek 
cattle browsed and were startled by his huntsman- 
like appearance. Farther on in the denser woods, 
and skirting the fences of the ripening grain-fields, 
he sought the nimble squirrel with varying success. 
They were apt to catch sight of him before he did 
them, and his first knowledge of their presence was 
often a frisky tail disappearing in the distance on 
the rail fence, and seeking refuge in some lofty tree. 
That sturdy oak had long been marked as the home 
of an ancient fox squirrel, whose activity had pre- 
served his life through several hunting seasons. 



80 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



Our 




young hunter concluded to sit down and await 
events, A tramp through the woods, with 
the twigs and leaves crackling under his feet, 
forewarned the wary game. Soon, if he kept 
quiet, a little head appeared around a tree 
and he heard a familiar barking not far away 
in the branches, and some venturesome black 
or gray squirrel skipped along the ground 
from one tree to another. His 
game bag well filled, no true 
huntsman knew better than the 
boy on the farm how to dress 
the game in a proper manner. 
The utmost skill was required 
not to get a hair on the delicate 
carcass about to be con- 
signed with pride to 
the good mother to 
be prepared for sup- 
per. The quarters 
boiled in gravy made 
a feast fit for an epi- 
cure. 

In September, 




THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 81 

when the seed wheat was in the ground, the pigeons 
darkened the heavens as they flew in long lines over- 
head. He had become more of a huntsman then, and 
in the field or margin of the forest sought them, at 
rest or on wing, Avith great success. They wheeled 
in their flight with strange fascination and came 
within range, and he filled many a pot pie with his 
easy skill 

He had heard it recited at the fireside that at an 
early day nobler game frequented those forests, when 
they were more dense. In the garret hung a trusty 
rifle, with old-fashioned sights and a rude stock. This 
old firearm had done service in pursuit of the fleet- 
footed deer. He could scarcely comprehend the sto- 
ries of buck fever" related with great gusto. 

He had maintained inviolate secrecy about a flock 
of wild turkeys that resorted to the great swamp in 
the summei*. In the fall they were roaming about 
the woods, and in his first contact with them 
he understood perfectly about "buck fever." He 
was utterly unable to act. Next time he did better, 
and the first one killed he shouldered and marched 
home Avith in trium])h. His sport was not systematic, 
trained sport, but was just such as a green country 



82 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



boy would have when the Indian summer threw its 
halo around the earth, and the sky assumed its peculiar 
smoky haze. The corn was standing afield in great 
shocks. It was almost a pastime to attack one of 
these and despoil it of its great golden ears, while the 
story and jest and badinage went its merry round 
among the buskers, and the great heaps of yellow 
corn lay in piles about the Elysian fields. 

Those were the halcyon days. They never will 
return to you. Great heaps of yellow gold may fill 
your coffers, but you never can buy back the days of 
your youth with their unalloyed pleasures. 





OVER THE GARDEN 
WALL. 

UE garden has been crying for rain. 
This morning the fresh-blowing 
wind tossed the branches of the great ehn about like 
waves of the billowy ocean. A robin clinging to the 
topmost branch rode on the wave like a ship at sea, 
as the western gale tossed them to and fro. But the 
winds dispelled the storm, the sun shone out in all 



84 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

his glory, and the day has been at midsummer heat. 

This afternoon, however, there is an ominous roll- 
ing of thunder in the distance, and the low-lying 
darkness along the horizon portends the storm. The 
rushing winds sway the foliage, and the strange, 
rustling voice of nature, borne by the breath of the 
storm, is broken only by the sharp cry of the birds. 
The sky becomes overcast, and the first pattering 
drops of rain come scattering to the earth as a pre- 
monition of that to come. Nature is hushed, and 
waits expectant to drink the invigorating draught. 

The great sprinkler of the heavens sifts down the 
precious fluid in greater profusion, then eases a mo- 
ment, and then dashes down a larger supply. The 
vivid flashes of lightning are followed by fearful 
crashes of thunder overhead that seem to jar the 
foundations of the earth. 

The Avind subsides, and the calmly falling, wel- 
come rain is drank up eagerly by the earth in its 
gladness. The vigor of our garden is renewed, and 
with the cessation of the storm the cheering notes of 
the birds are heard, and in the sunlight a glorious 
rainbow spans the eastern heavens. 

Alongside the garden wall soon will the June roses 



OVER THE GARDEN WALL. g5 

flourish — red rose and white. Floating with tnem 
into the wind come the notes of the flute, viol, and 
bassoon from the great hall, as the love-sick and 
crazy youth lingers iu the fancy from the poet laure- 
ate's passionate tale, his sad heart crying for his love 
to come into the garden. 

Over the garden wall will clamber the morning 
glory, gaily swinging its bright-colored bell. On its 
top the vain peacock is wont to sj^read his gorgeous 
panoply of the orient. Within the precincts of 
the garden, companion to the vain-glorious poppy, 
the gay sunflower doth turn its golden face to the 
summer sun, and the hollyhock rears its head. 
Therein a sacred root of pie-plant grows, and sage to 
savor grandam's sausage and tea as well, and the an- 
cient and honorable gooseberry ; while the apple, 
peach, and pear line the borders of the garden fair. 

On the farther limits of the garden grows a fringe 
of wild-w^ood. Wild flowers spring up in the leafy 
mold of its retreats. The wild grape has spread over 
the fence like a green hedge-row. The white blos- 
soms of the elder and bush and briar flourish there in 
profusion. The wide-spreading branches of the w^al- 
nut are laden with nuts, presaging the cheer by the 



86 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

winter's fire. Then the wintry blasts may blow 
without, but to the ruddy glow of our hearth-stone 
we shall draw near for warmth and comfort. 

Over the trellis of the summer kitchen the grape 
has wound its way, clinging with small but powerful 
tendrils, like the affections that entwine about the 
objects of our adoration, and hold us steadfast to 
them. The connection of the summer kitchen with 
the garden is like the relation of the luscious berry to 
the toothsome shortcake. Granted that it is well 
supplied with the fresh products of the garden, 
what a peculiar pride there is in culling the vegeta- 
bles fresh from our own soil, something raised by 
the sweat of our own brow ! 

A well-kept garden is like unto a perfect character, 
inasmuch as it is developed by cultivation. Per- 
haps you know some particularly amiable lady whose 
graces of character are distinctly marked. Birth has 
done something for her, to be sure, as good soil has 
something to do with the garden ; but cultivation 
has done more for her, the same as the weeds are 
carefully eradicated from the garden, and the soil 
stirred about the tender plants that only the good 
and useful may thrive. They stand the sunshine, 



OVER THE GARDEN WALL. 87 

the storm, and the wind. How strong are the plants 
that have been beaten and blown about ! The char- 
acter that has been through the storms and sorrows 
of adversity is like them. In contrast with them is 
the succulent growth springing up in the wild-wood 
retreat, that grow slender of stalk and w^eak of fiber, 
like a Tveak character easily crushed. 

If this amiable lady is fortunately linked w^ith a 
helpmeet of equal kindness, great is the impress of 
the lives of that happy pair in the community where 
they live. 

Meantime night is approaching, and robin red 
breast'hops along the ground in search of his evening 
meal, and drags from his lair the struggling earth- 
worm. From an apple tree the orchard orioles pour 
forth their gladsome melody in a flood of song. The 
brood of white, fluffy chicks, just out, seek the seclu- 
sion of the mother's wings. Soon will only the sound 
of the cricket be heard, w^hen the world, too, will 
have sought the seclusion of darkness and rest be- 
neath the wings of night. 




THE ROMANCE OF A SAP-BUSH. 

^MONG the best sweets nature has in 

store for us is the sap of the sugar 

maple. The first bright warm 

days of February the groceryman 

brings out the remnant of last 

season's stock of maple sugar, and^ 

melting it over with the addition of the proper amount 

of ^^ muscovado," presents to the palates of the public 

the product of the first run of the season. 

Of course it is not our groceryman that does this, 
and it is only a popular myth anyway, but that old 
fiction has been flung about the country so long that 
1 know, and you know, a woman that believes it. 

Not long after this sugar-making actually begins, 
thawy days and light freezing night cause the sap to 
run. The flow is accelerated by the fall of a light 
snow, commonly called the '^ sugar snow," that melts 
rapidly, dampening the ground beneficially for the 
maple. 

The old-fashioned sugar-camp, with its primitive 

(88) 



THE ROMANCE OF A SAP-BUSH. 89 

appliances, is a delightful reminiscence of happy days. 
It was a common center where liberality and hospi- 
tality were displayed open-handed. The early settler 
tapped the trees with home-made spiles made of su- 
mac, with the pith removed. The typical Chinaman 
of the tea chest, Avith a yoke across his shoulders, 
and his burden of tea chests balanced on long hooks 
at either end, is a fair conception of the method of 
sap gathering. 

" They are going to sugar off down to s to- 
night," Avas O'pen sesame in those days to the surround- 
ing swains. You were J^oung then, and still revel in 
the deFights of the rude shelter in the woods, the 
ruddy fire in the improvised arch, and the seething 
caldron of syrup. The bearer of a saucer and spoon, 
the most delicious flavor on the tongue to your think- 
ing was syrup waxed on snow. The most enchant- 
ing thing you knew was a pair of bright eyes that 
beamed on you. No doubt you thought seriously of 
them in those days, and they sparkle in your fancy 
yet. 

But they were not j^our destiny. You revisited the 
old neighborhood not long since, and found Bright 
Eyes the mother of two charming children. They 



90 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



are being brought up, and not merely raised, but are 
being educated in the neighboring town, and you feel 
that your old flame's mission in the world is being ful- 
filled. Is yours? You see behind the civilization of 
that home a strain of culture drifted from old York 
State and the New England coast. 

The modern sugar-maker has many improved ap- 
pliances, — metal spiles, a finely - regulated sugar 
house, pans and purifiers ; — but none of them can 
rob you of your ideal of years ago. You pore over 
old ledgers and day-books, and growl because col- 
lections are slow, but you are still loyal to that old 
romance of a sap-bush. 





THE ROSE 
ERIN. 



OF 



IITH the railroad a new 
civilization was coming into 
the country. The original 
settlers, the old Pennsyl- 
vania Dutchmen, who had 
immigrated to, and settled 
in, the Hoosier country, 
were beginning to feel the 
impulse of the new and 
keener Yankee blood. 

Even the Celt was there. 
He came in with his earthly 
possessions loaded on a don- 
key cart — bedding, wife, ba- 
bies, frying-pan, and all, 
a motley crew that soon 
set up housekeeping in the 
shanties on the St. Joe, and 
the donkey and dump-cart became habitues of the 
"cut and fill." A genuine store, with a Yankee 

(91) 



C):3 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

store-keeper from 'way over the line, in Michigan, 
was indeed an innovation. 

Even Sunday assumed another air, and the old 
school-house, that stood down by the swale, was 
brightened up and did service for a Sunday-school. 
Some of the attendants might not have cared for it in 
their former homes, but now they were zealous for it 
because it smacked of the old home institutions. 
Colonel Winters, the blufp and hearty old contractor, 
had a deal to do with it. He said, '' Everything is 
so new here, and so rough, that we must do some- 
thing to make us think of home." 

The country was but half cleared up, and the ha- 
zel brush covered a portion of that. The roads ran 
in no regular direction, but led most anywhere, and 
carried you through the woods to some Dutchman's 
possessions, and ended there. The Hoosier might 
have numbered his acres b}^ the hundred. The old 
log house was, perhaps, habitable ; but the large 
barn, with a hip roof and capacious mows, •was a 
marvel of architecture and the pride of the Hoosier's 
heart. The bowl of buttermilk that his frau set be- 
fore you was without the sweetening that your 
mother was wont to give you. If you were a 



THE HOSE OF ERIN. 93 

boy, you noticed that. They Uved plam, but they 
amassed wealth and acres. 

But now the " Air-Line ^' was steering its way 
through their possessions. Traders at the store, 
from the surrounding country, as a rule, rode horse- 
back, and tied their steeds to the rude hitching- 
posts across the road from the store, in a clearing of 
the hazel brush, and fashioned out of saplings by 
the hands of the ingenious store-keeper, who was 
manager, clerk, and man-of-all-work at the same 
time. 

Huckleberries figured largely as a commodity in 
the exchange for goods. The Dutch women would 
ask, ^' Sprechen sie Deutsch?''' and the store-keeper's 
entire stock of the German vocabulary would only 
permit him to answer, '•'- Neiny 

Then they would bring forward the children, who, 
more fortunately, had learned the English tongue at 
the schools, and they Avould act as interpreters in 
the financial transactions. 

There were several strata of society thrown to- 
gether in the, as yet, unnamed railroad town. There 
were the Yankee-blooded store-keeper's and con- 
tactor's families and others of that ilk, that might 



94 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

be classed as one. Another la^^er was the Hibernian 
element, and the remaining superstructure of society 
was the native old Silurian Hoosiers. 

In a new community like this, from necessity^ 
caste and distinction are laid aside. So the occa- 
sional dances, gotten up to relieve the tedium of the 
place, were o^pen sesame to all. A house, conveniently 
located on the main road, had arrived at the dignity 
of being called a "hotel," the unfinished and parti, 
tionless second story of w^hich was the scene of the 
dancing festivities, where they ''hoed 'er down." 

Saturday afternoon was a great half-holiday, too, 
and upon the commons sides w^ere chosen, and the 
male portion of the community joined in an old-fash- 
ioned game of base ball with great gusto. 

And the Fourth of July — a place in the woods was 
underbrushed out, alongside the line, and every man, 
woman, and child joined in a Sunday-school celebra- 
tion, which was made complete with tables heavily 
laden with frosted and pyramid cakes. A young 
lawyer from the county seat, who was an aspirant 
for Congressional honors, orated in a grandiloquent 
manner. It was very much in those days as it is 
now, the lawyers did all the talking and most of the 
going to Congress. 



THE ROSE OF ERIN. 



95 



Such a place could not be long without its love af- 
fair. Neither was there a lack of belles in its society, 
— a casus belli. There was Helen, the fair Hibernian 
lass, a rosy-cheeked beauty, who seemed a waif 
thrown astray amid the Irish shanties; and there 
was blithesome Mary, of the Yankee settlement that 
clustered around the store. 

It was not long ^^ H _,^,^^v". 

in developing ,^^^^W^%^I ^^""^M 
that where there ^^BflkA ^ \ 





is a cause there will 
be an effect. Love 
turns the affairs of the world, 
and makes even old men silly. 
The old song is, ''Love Eules the Camp, the Court, 
and the Grove." The cause in this instance was 
these two beauties, and the effect was the young 
surveyor, Coburn. 

He paid attention to both at the dances, and soon 
the hitherto united people were divided upon the 
question, not onlj^ as to who would bear away the 



96 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

'' prize," for Coburn was looked upon with a great deal 
of reverence in those parts, his professions being re- 
garded as a high attainment. 

Which girl would get him, became the absorbing 
theme ; all shanty-town of course rallied to the stand- 
ard of fair Helen, and not without cause either, for 
she was a royal beauty. 

When Patrick lit his pipe, out on the big ''fill," in 
the morning, and punching the Aveed more compactly 
into the bowl of the pipe with his finger, gave some 
short, vigorous puffs with a peculiar smack of the lips, 
resting his foot on the shovel, he said : '^ Hoi, Moike, 
did yez go up to the donee last noight, and did yez 
notice Misther Coburn, the boss of thim surveyors, 
the foine gentleman that he is, donee with Mistress 
Helen ? A nice couple they are, too ; good luck to 
the loikes of um " 

And Michael said: ''A fine little leddy that — a fine 
wife she would make for Misther Coburn, shure, bet- 
ter nor that Yankee gurll." 

Up at the- store, an imprisoned gray squirrel was 
whirling the tin revolving wheel of his cage, anxiously 
watched by a lonesome boy, Avho longed for far-away 
Michigan. Several men, who were laying off from 



THE ROSE OF ERIN. 97 

the job, were holding down sundry boxes and kegs, 
and aiming tobacco juice at an imaginary receptacle 
under the stove, with varying success. 

The silence of some moments was broken by the 
emphatic exclamation of a Wolverine: — 

'^ I'll be damned if I can see what Coburn finds in 
that Irish girl to admire." 

Whereat the store-keeper, who is supposed to be 
on confidential terms with Mr. Coburn, says: ^' I'm 
going to see about that myself; I'll have a talk with 
Coburn." 

'' There's no denying she's a purty girl; but Mary, 
she's a different sort o' beauty," chimed in a long, 
lank setter. 

Coburn gave forth no sign, and gossip grew hotter. 
Which would win? that was the absorbing theme 
that agitated and divided the colony. 

One day, as Coburn was engaged in surveying the 
boundaries of the line through the woodlands that 
came up to the grade, he heard a sweet voice, in a 
pathway of the woods, singing,— 

" Come over the sea, 
Maiden, with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 



98 



A CHILD OF GENIUS. 



►Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
Let Fate frown on, so we love and part not; 
'T is life where thou art, 't is death where thou art not; 

Then come over the sea. 

Maiden, with me. 
Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Burns the same, where'er it goes.'' 

He recognized the voice as 
Helen's, and clapping his hands, 
shouted, " Capital ! " as the 
young lady emerged from the 
pathwa}^, unconscious of the 
nearness of any one. 

" Bravo ! You do well with 
a love song," he reiterated. 

" Who knew that you were 
around?" said Helen. ^^I 
would n't have been so free 
with my song." 

" Too late to regret it now," 
said he ; '' besides, I am some- 
thing of a singer myself." 




THE ROSE OF ERIN. 99 

Helen urged him to sing for her, and he sang, — 

" Sweet life, if life were stronger, 
Earth clear of years that wrong her, 
Then two things might live longer, 

Two sweeter things than thoy, — 
Delight, the rootless flower, 
And love, the bloomless bower, 
Delight that lives an hour. 

And love that lives a day." 

'' Don't you think love is more constant than that, 
Mr. Coburn ? " said Helen. 

" Oh, yes ; that's onty the words of the poet for 
it, and they are often misanthropes," said he. '' Love 
is the most lasting thing," he added. 

^^ I should hope so," she replied. 

^' ]Now that I have entertained you with my song," 
said Coburn, '' I wish you would help me run this 
chain," and together they measured the distances 
with the chain, and many times after that they 
handled the chain together — who knows but they 
were measuring the links of a life? And at evening, 
Coburn would take his fishing rod and stroll downi 
the river path to a favorite place by the willows, 
where they threw their shadows into the dark, glassy 
pool, and cast his line into the water. 



100 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

Oftentimes was he accompanied by the little Irish 
lass, to whom he would relate strange and boyish 
stories of his school life and struggle to got an edu- 
cation, and about his plans for the future; how he 
had been reading law, and hoped to receive his di- 
ploma, and to hang out his '^ shingle " ; whereat she 
wanted to know what that meant, and he laughed 
and explained that it was a lawyer's sign; and he grew 
more confidential, and said that there were two ways 
for honor open to the able attorney — the judge's 
bench and politics. 

Fame and profit might be a long time in coming, 
he said, and he told her of a bosom friend of his boy- 
hood days, Avith whom he had mutual aspirations, — 
how they had planned and studied together, planning 
for a place in the world. 

His friend had gone into literature, and met with 
many bitter disappointments. He had tried news- 
paperwork without achieving any distinction. Ifat- 
urally of a poetic tendency, his poems did not attract 
attention. 

One day he sent a homely, rough -shod j^oem of 
home life to a city paper, and awoke to find himself 
famous and copied far and wide. All this after years 



THE ROSE OF ERIN. 101 

of disappointment and seeming failure. He bad sim- 
ply found his theme. 

Now his friend was sought after and wealthy. 
His own ambitions had not been satisfied as yet, but 
he still had the determination to win. All this was 
a revelation of a higher life to the quaint little lady 
by his side, that she had not dreamed of, and made 
her wonder at the poverty of her own surroundings. 

Daily, at the Yankee settlement, too, Coburn met 
the charming Mary. That he saw much in her quiet 
ways to admire, there was no wonder. To a man 
with his tendencies, a wife like her with her superior 
education and tact, could but be a helpmeet indeed 
and in truth. 

Meantime great gangs of men were moving moun- 
tains of earth. Across the flats of St. Joe the great 
embankments were only separated by the waters of 
the river. The trestle-work of the massive bridge 
would soon connect them. Through the wilderness, 
w^estward, the pathway for the iron horse was being 
pushed. 

The summer and early fall were dry, and no mis- 
take. Everything was drying up. The back-water 
in the great mill-dams along Fish Creek had disap- 



102 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

peared, leaving exposed acres and acres of old stumps 
and stubs and logs, and great, reeking bottoms, that 
sent over the surrounding country, like a black fiend, 
a miasmic mist of death. It shook its filmy fingers 
far and near, and there was scarce a home in the 
region but paid homage to its call. Young and 
blooming childhood and happy youth most often fell 
its prey. In the Hoosier homes the mortality among 
children was something appalling, taken as a whole. 
There were no doctors at hand ; the nearest one was 
at the Center, ten miles away. His ride was, of 
necessity, large, and he could not call often. 

Now it was that the superior knowledge and skill 
of the Yankee store-keeper were brought into req- 
uisition. Florence Nightingale could not have done 
more. Here, there, everywhere his presence was 
needed. The Irish cabins on the river bluffs were 
invaded by the disease, and the children of some of 
the Yankee colonists were attacked. If a pulse was 
low, the store-keaper would fire it up with brandy, 
shake it in the teeth of the fell malaria. It was a 
mortal combat by day, continued through the long 
watches of the night. Sunday-school was no longer 
held ; the dancing festivities were suspended ; no 



THE ROSE OF ERIN. 103 

longer, on the village green, in the half-holiday, did 
the ball-players resort. 

Finally, one day, word came to the store that 
Helen had the malady. There was no lack of volun- 
teers to go and battle with the disease ; but Mary, 
the good soul, insisted that she was the proper one 
to go. She was determined about the matter. She 
met Coburn at the door of the rude habitation by 
the river — he was already there. There was an anx- 
ious expression on his face. 

There was an unspoken truce upon the past from 
the moment their eyes met, a suspension of all 
earthly things. 

They went into the cabin to do their duty, nobly 
and heroically, and opposed the harsh disease, step 
by step ; but it enveloped the form. It was useless. 

A wild Eglantine rose, that Helen had herself 
found in the forest and planted, screened the win- 
dow. The roses had blossomed and faded away, and 
like them Helen was fading and d^nng. 

There was silence in the house the night that 
Helen died. There were soft, tip-toed steps, and 
naught but the steady tick, tick, tick, tick of the 
clock was heard. Outside, the crickets filled the 



104 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 

mournful air of the night with their chirpings. Be- 
low, the river was rushing away in the darkness. In 
hushed stillness, Nature waited for the death angel 
to bear a human life on to eternity. Away from 
kindred and home and friends, across the dark, un- 
fathomable night, the black- winged angel flies in the 
solemn, mysterious darkness. When shall we see 
the morning light? 

Oh, the anguished heart of that poor mother, as 
she crosses herself to Mary the mother of God! Oh, 
the grief of that poor father, as he reverences the 
Saints ! Father and mother are the dearest, truest 
friends on earth. 

When the last moment was coming, and Helen 
herself saw it, she took the hand of Coburn and 
placed it in Mary's, and said, '^ God bless you both ; 
God bless you both, and keep you. I had a dream of 
life ; my faith stood in its way ; it is gone now. 
Good-by." Let us draw a curtain over death. It is 
better so, if Helen is happy in heaven. 



That old colony is scattered now. The donkey and 
the dump carts, and the people with mother wit from 
the Emerald Isle, from whose ranks have risen some 



THE HOSE OF ERIN. 105 

of our brightest lights, went on ; for when the road 
came through, corner lots did not have the value 
some people imagined they would have, and it would 
take too many years for the slow-going country to 
develop anyway to suit the active Yankees ; so they 
mostly drifted away, and left what there was of the 
new civilization in the hands of the old settlers. 

Coburn and Mary were married. She has been a 
true woman and a faithful helpmeet. He has been 
an able jurist and a righteous judge. The bright 
little flower of a girl that blossomed and faded on the 
St. Joe, they will always remember with mutual ad- 
miration. 




I}., 



iiiiiniiiiiiiiiSir '^°^*^"^ss 

016 215 398 5 



